


It Feels Like Falling

by Ralph_E_Silvering



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst and Humor, F/M, Gen, Hogwarts Seventh Year, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-28
Updated: 2015-07-28
Packaged: 2018-04-11 16:25:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,718
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4443368
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ralph_E_Silvering/pseuds/Ralph_E_Silvering
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hermione Granger is far too observant for her own good. She's always known why Harry has a thing for Quidditch Players, and it all has to do with Draco Malfoy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	It Feels Like Falling

It Feels Like Falling  
Aka Harry Potter and his thing about Quidditch Players

&……&…….&……..&……&…….&  
Disclaimer: Harry/Draco are here again. I own nothing from the world of Harry Potter. I should also give major credit for my Draco to Sara’s Girl and Maya’s Fics, both of which made me love Draco so much that he morphed with Tom Felton and the Draco I saw in my head into the Draco that appears before you. Also, go read their stories - Much, much better than mine. This all takes place from Hermione’s perspective, mostly because I’m convinced she was the only one with a brain in the entirety of the Wizarding World. Her and Snape. AU, takes place in an entirely fictional 7th year where Snape and Dumbledore are still alive, Draco is still at Hogwarts, and the Slytherins have taken Dumbledore’s side. Enjoy!

&……&…….&……..&……..&………&

Hermione sat eating French toast one morning, reading 'Spellman’s Guide to Integrated and Subpartical Arithmatical Principles', and planning to observe Harry Potter with interest.

As soon as he came down to breakfast.

Of course, Harry was one of her best friends and she’d had many opportunities to observe him over the years, but this day was shaping up to be particularly interesting. Hermione was sure that she was about to witness an epiphany.

Thank God for that. It was already March of their Last Year at Hogwarts. It had only taken him 7 years after all.

Hermione frowned as she read, silently chastising herself for that uncharitable thought. Her mother had often told her that it wasn’t nice to go around and mock people for being less observant than she was. 

Hermione thought this was distinctly unfair, because then she wouldn’t be able to mock anyone.

Hermione absently reached for the coffee pot that had just been on her right, but her hand closed around empty air. She glanced up, startled, and found herself staring into the slate-grey eyes of Draco Malfoy; Slytherin, acknowledged sex god, all-around pain in her arse, and – because Professor Dumbledore had obviously taken leave of his senses – Head Boy.

He was also, apparently, a stealer of other people’s coffee.

“Malfoy, why do you have the coffee pots from both Hufflepuff and Gryffindor?” she demanded.

Malfoy raised an eyebrow and attempted to look innocent. He failed miserably. 

“Who, moah?” He made a gesture meant to illustrate his own put-upon guiltlessness, but looked rather like a drunk chicken, all scrawny limbs and pointed features.

Hermione sighed.

She glanced over at the Ravenclaw table and saw Michael Corner protectively cradling their coffeepot with a hunted look on his face.

Malfoy attempted to sneak away while she was doing this. She snapped back to attention and fixed him with a look that would have made much tougher men than Malfoy flinch. He stopped inching backwards and attempted to hide both coffeepots behind his back, instead.

“Are you some kind of coffee addict?” Hermione asked, suspiciously.

Malfoy sniffed haughtily. “For your information, Granger, one cannot be addicted to coffee, because one cannot ever have too much of it.”

“Oh, my God.”

She stared at him for a while. “I think you may have a problem, Malfoy,” she said, slowly, and attempted to go for her wand.

Malfoy’s eyes widened in horror. “Cease and desist, woman,” he yelled, “The coffee is mine,” and fled back to the Slytherin table.

Hermione stared after him in mild annoyance. He really did think he was hilarious. 

O, how far the noble profession of Head Boy had fallen into ignominy. Well, at least the Head Girl was still doing her job. Seriously, this whole place would have imploded already had she not been.

Ginny wandered by, covering her mouth to hide a yawn. “Hey, where’s the coffee?”

“Malfoy’s got it,” Hermione responded absently, already engrossed in her book again. Professor Snape was walking by, and Hermione could smell his faint scent of sandalwood and herbs. She tried not to breathe but her traitorous nose ignored her.

“What d’you mean Malfoy has it?”

She was fairly sure that his hair was less greasy; softer, cleaner and fuller too. She snuck another sidelong glance at him and was positive about it. That new hair solution she’d developed last month – and which she had substituted for his regular shampoo with the shameless connivance of Winky – was obviously a success.

“Hey, Malfoy!” Ginny yelled across the Great Hall.

Hermione winced, and Professor Snape stopped walking. Malfoy smirked.

“Is there any reason why you feel the need to yell like an uncouth troglodyte, Miss Wealsey?” Snape inquired in silky tones.

Ginny, vibrant and indignant, red hair ablaze, glared defiantly up at the Potions Master. “Malfoy’s taken all the coffee,” she accused.

Snape merely raised an eyebrow. Hermione diligently turned another page in her book. “You don’t appear to need it, Miss Weasley. Five points from Gryffindor for failure to show proper decorum. And Miss Granger –”

Hermione looked up and met his eyes. His hair really did look nice. And he had just offered her that apprenticeship after all. She smiled at him brightly.

His eyes narrowed in suspicion and faint bemusement. “Eavesdropping is impolite,” he snapped, and stalked up to the High Table where he proceeded to pour himself a very large cup of black coffee.

“Git,” Ginny snarled.

“Professor Git,” Hermione corrected absently, admiring Snape’s robes. She would admit she had a problem, but only under Veritaserum.

Ginny gave her a strange look.

Harry and Ron wandered in after a few moments. Ron was scrubbing ineffectually at his hair and Harry hadn’t even bothered. 

Hermione watched Harry’s automatic glance towards the Slytherin table. He had just the faintest hint of uncertainty about him until his gaze met Malfoy’s. Then his green eyes sharpened and sparked and he glared with abandon, all uncertainty gone. Then they both looked away, Harry sat next to her, and he gave her a fierce grin. She couldn’t help smiling back; she loved it when Harry was happy.

Ginny sat on his other side and Harry automatically put an arm around her before remembering that the'd broken up just before Christmas. He slowly retracted the offending appendage and inched closer towards Hermione.

“Slytherin’s playing Ravenclaw today,” Ginny reminded him. She'd gone still when he'd touched her, and was now valiantly pretending nothing had happened.

“Should be an even match, unless Malfoy cheats again, like the underhanded, no-good Slytherin bastard that he is,” Harry opined, viciously tearing off a bite of toast and glaring across at the Slytherin table again.

Ginny's eyes narrowed at Harry. Then she turned resolutely away.

Malfoy pretended not to notice. He was still looking smug about all the coffee.

“Er, Hermione” – Harry began, blinking at the coffeepots surrounded the blond Slytherin.

“Don’t even ask,” she advised him.

Draco Malfoy always cheated outrageously at Quidditch. It was like he had been raised without the concept of fair play. If asked, he would probably claim that the notion of fair play or equal sportsmanship was un-Malfoy.

Hermione snorted and aggressively turned a page. She glanced at Malfoy over the top of her book. He was now in the midst of one of his impressions, gesticulating wildly, pale hair flopping over his face in his enthusiasm. The Slytherins laughed uproariously. Pansy Parkinson was almost crying with mirth.

Malfoy looked up, pink-faced and triumphant, and caught Hermione staring at him.

He gave her an exaggerated wink that caused half the Slytherin girls to dramatically swoon. Hermione could feel her face reddening and gave him a stern look. His malicious smile grew.

Hermione thought that all this posturing was a bit rich, especially considering she was fairly positive he was gay. 

“Er,” Harry said, now sounding slightly dumbfounded, “why is Malfoy smiling at you like that, Hermione?”

Hermione narrowed her eyes and silently promised Malfoy a painful death. She sniffed and returned to her book. “Because he’s a git.”

Ron snorted and sprayed baked beans all over the table. Hermione wrinkled her nose. “Eww, Ron!”

“S’rry,” he mumbled around the beans. “But seriously, tell us something we don’t know, ‘Mione.”

She smiled at him like a shark. “How about the fact that your table manners are atrocious, Ronald Weasley?”

Harry laughed.

Ron muttered sullenly under his breath about how Hermione wasn’t his mother, 'he already had one of those, thank you very much'.

Hermione remembered again why their brief relationship at the beginning of last term, had ended in complete disaster, and inscribed a perpetually traumatised look upon Harry’s face.

She’d told him that she and Ron splitting up had nothing to do with him, but she wasn’t sure whether he actually believed that or not.

During the 4th week of last term, when summer had still been upon them and the first Quidditch match hadn’t even happened yet, Hermione and Ron had gotten into a huge shouting match in the Great Hall. It was towards the end of the meal, and thus there were less people than usual, but Hermione still cringed at the memory. She was trying her hardest to forget what had started it, but to her shame it had begun with something about beef stew.

Hermione wasn’t sure she’d ever be able to think about that fact with any kind of equanimity.

Of course, then it had escalated to everything else that was wrong between the two of them. Hermione was a bossy know-it-all, Ron was an ignorant buffoon. Hermione never did anything fun, Ron was an irresponsible jackanapes.

That had made Professor Snape aware her 10 points for vocabulary that had baffled her enemy, causing Hermione to involuntarily smile at him, and then realize with horror that everyone in the Great Hall was currently watching them with expressions ranging from interest, to alarm, to – in Malfoy’s case – no small amount of rather malicious amusement.

There was a small lull in the argument as Hermione turned red and Ron tried to think of a way to kill Professor Snape without Dumbledore noticing. 

Malfoy decided to take this opportunity to chuck a plate of Brussel sprouts at Harry’s face.

Harry roared with rage and charged the Slytherin table; at which point the Granger-Weasley fight had turned into the familiar spectacle of a Potter-Malfoy brawl. Along with everyone else, Ron forgot all about what had previously been happening.

“Go, Harry! Kick ‘em in the dangly bits!”

“Ron – nobody says that.”

Ron ignored her and stared taking bets on how long it would take for Harry to beat Malfoy to a pulp. “Thirty seconds!” he roared. “It will be a new record!”

Chanting was rising up from the Gryffindors, and the Slytherins were stomping the floor in support of their leader. And shouting out Harry’s weak spots for Malfoy to use an underhanded move. The Hufflepuffs looked scandalised, and the Ravenclaws were looking undecided.

Professors Snape and McGonagall made a beeline for the rowdy disrupters from the Head Table, their faces like thunder. Flitwick had toppled off his stool, and Dumbledore unrolled a lemon drop and ate it placidly.

Daphne Greengrass was looking disturbingly excited and was elbowing her younger sister in a rather knowing manner. Hermione had since found out that the Greengrass sisters had a running bet going on when the Potter-Malfoy brawl would turn into a Potter-Malfoy love-fest. Their words, not Hermione's.

Hermione sometimes thought that Slytherins were all a bunch of nutters.

She accidentally met Professor Snape’s glance when he was almost upon them all, and was shocked when he curled at lip and then arched an eyebrow at her.

The man was fluent in eyebrow, and this one was plainly meant to tell her something, but Hermione was too flustered at the moment by this unusual amount of eye contact to try and dissect it. 

She would do that later.

With chocolate and maybe a girlish amount of giggling.

“MR. POTTER!” McGonagall boomed in strident tones.

Snape just hauled the two boys apart, and started assigning detentions to everyone in his eye line. 

The Great Hall emptied faster than you could say bobutuber pus.

It was agreed by all who witnessed it, that this Potter-Malfoy fight was especially glorious. It was only Hermione who commented that it was actually a draw; neither Harry nor Malfoy had come away with any clear idea of victory and they’d both gotten detention.

And only Hermione who appeared to notice the amount of touching that was involved. Of course, it was a no-hold barred beat down, filled with usual snarling, rage-induced testosterone insults, end with the habitual “Your Mums”, but they had ended up on the floor, Harry attempted to punch Malfoy systematically in the gut, and Malfoy attempting to bite Harry’s ear off.

It was only when they both appeared to exhausted to go on that Hermione was almost positive she saw Harry rest his head, very briefly, just once, on Malfoy’s shoulder.

And Malfoy, whose hand was curled around the back of Harry’s neck, stroke his hair, just once.

Neither of the boys appeared to take note of this however. If asked, they would probably claim to have undying enmity for one another, and that nothing out of any ordinary fight had occurred.

And in a second they were being hauled apart by Professor Snape.

Sometimes, Hermione really despaired of the entire human race.

Hermione was also almost positive that Malfoy had instigated the entire fight in the first place, in some sort of crazy plan to lessen the tension between her and Ron. He had automatically reached out to help Harry.

In a completely illogically, totally impractical, typically evil type of Malfoy plan.

Subconscious though, because she knew that if she even hinted at such an idea, both Malfoy and Harry would call her deranged and ship her off to St. Mungo’s.

But then again, Hermione Granger had a lot of deranged theories.

Like there was her one about Professor McGonagall and all those salsa dancing lessons. One day Eberhart Fuhr – their new Defense Against the Dark Arts Professor – was bound to notice her nicely trimmed calves.

Or her one about Aberforth Dumbledore and the fact that he was actually a multi-millionaire due to all his goat breeding ranches in the Andes.

Not even the Headmaster knew about that one, she was sure.

And that one about Voldemort vacationing in Lyons last summer, without the knowledge of his Death Eaters. Harry had called her ‘bonkers’ but Hermione had several French newspaper articles and the testimony of Crux Croaker from the Unspeakable department, that he had been there.

And especially the one about the Patil twins and Blaise Zabini. He was his mother’s son after all.

But her absolute favorite – the one she kept coming back to again and again – was her theory about Harry and his thing with Quidditch players.

And it had all started with Draco Malfoy.

Exhibit 1: Draco Malfoy: pale, pointy, he looked like an albino. But he had an air about him that exuded confidence or arrogance or – probably just pigheadedness.  
Lavender and Parvati were forever telling her that he was a sex god, but Hermione thought it wasn’t in the traditional sense of good looks. Although, Malfoy wasn’t that bad on the eyes, she admitted grudgingly. It was the fact that his presence was this searing, burning, annoying, mocking, impossible-to-ignore catastrophe. When Draco Malfoy walked into the room, everyone noticed.

And when Harry noticed he leaped from sullen, depressed teenage boy to fire-breathing dragon.

Ron was preening like he had single-handedly humiliated the entirety of Slytherin House as they filed out into the corridor. This was probably because Malfoy looked far worse than Harry. He was staggering a bit, brushing off Crabbe’s steadying hand, and ineffectually dabbing at his still-bleeding nose.

Hermione darted a glance at Harry, but he just looked sullen and unhappy. He kept his head down and shoved his hands in his pockets as he trudged along at her side. Hermione noticed that he kept her as a bulwark separating himself from Malfoy, though.

She nudged him, gently. “Are you alright?” she asked, softly.

His brilliant green eyes shot up to hers. “Are you?” he asked, serious and intent on her face. Ron had the emotional range of a teaspoon regarding everyone but himself, and Harry was exactly the opposite. He could pick up people's emotions so easily, but about his own he was hopelessly clueless.

Hermione tried to smile but it must have looked a pitiful attempt for he reached out and clasped her hand in his.

She looked up to find Malfoy had stopped walking and was scowling at them both blackly.

“Just you remember this day, Malfoy!” Ron crowed, almost capering with glee.

Malfoy transferred his scowl to Ron.

“What?” he snapped. Blood from his nose was staining his white collar a bright red.

“Oh, for heaven’s sake.” Hermione waved her wand at him. “Episkey,” and his nose was healed.

His malevolent silver eyes met hers and she knew the word he wanted to hurl at her. She could see that he was hurt by something he didn’t even understand yet, and Malfoy’s first response to something that hurt him was to strike out with the most hurtful thing he could think of. 

Harry dropped her hand as though he’d been burnt.

Hermione cursed herself for being too observant, stared sternly at Malfoy, and clearly mouthed the words “Head Boy” at him. His eyes flickered and then he pressed his lips together and turned away from her.

“You just got destroyed, Malfoy!” Ron continued, oblivious. “Utterly crushed!”

Ron was so delighted, as though nothing but that fight had happened. Hermione felt vaguely nauseas. 

“What are you talking about, Weasley?” Malfoy’s pretentious tone was icy cold.

“Are you somehow mentally retarded, Weasley?” Pansy Parkinson snapped. “The fight’s over, you moron.” She looked like she wanted to hit him.

Ron looked from Parkinson’s face to her … well-endowed chest area. Now Hermione wanted to hit him.

“Let’s just go, Ron,” Harry said, tiredly.

“My face is up here, Weasley.” Parkinson’s sarcastic tone sounded utterly fed up.

Goyle made a move in Ron’s direction.

“Well, if you wouldn’t dress like a slut, Parkinson –” Hermione said, glaring daggers at Ron

“Excuse me, Granger?” Pansy shrieked. “You utter cow!”

“Shut up, Parkinson!” Ron shouted.

“Oh, God,” Malfoy groaned, “I haven’t had enough coffee for this.”

Harry snorted. “You’re obsessed with coffee, Malfoy. He ran a hand through his unruly hair and slanted a glance at his rival. “This may have escaped your notice, Oh Great One, but coffee is not a food group.”

“You’re one to talk, Potter. I’ve seen how little you’ve been eating lately. You’re growing even scrawnier. And weak.” His rare smile, malicious and sly, but bright as silver shot out. Harry’s green eyes widened. “Your punches felt like a tickle from a feather,” he said with unholy glee.

Harry must still have been startled by the smile because his lips quirked, and he answered almost gently. “Tell that to your face, Malfoy.”

Hermione observed Malfoy with amusement. He looked terribly disappointed – like a little kid deprived of candy – that his cunning attack against Harry’s prowess had not had its desired effect.

“It’s true you’ve not been eating enough, Harry.”

Malfoy gestured wildly from Hermione to himself, probably in an attempt to illustrate his own brilliance.

To her surprise, she found herself sharing a look of exasperation over this behavior with Crabbe.

Goyle had moved in between Ron and Pansy who had progressed to shouting at one another around his bulk.

“This one doesn’t eat properly, either,” Crabbe confided to the two Gryffindors not involved in a row in the corridor. “He seems to think breakfast is for other people, and then wonders why he gets faint in Potions.”

Harry looked at Malfoy in sudden glee.

“Hey!” Malfoy cried, outraged. And then with great dignity added, “I’ll have you know that that is due to the fumes.”

“Oh yes, the fumes,” Harry echoed, but he was properly smiling now, for the first time in days.

Malfoy blinked at him, bemused. “I don’t know what you’re laughing at, Potter.” But Hermione noticed that he didn’t seem annoyed, rather vaguely pleased with himself. Almost preening like a peacock.

Exhibitionist drama queen.

“Harry, where are you?” came Ginny’s voice, just before she turned the corner. Harry and Malfoy’s faces became tight, and the amusement – almost a moment of understanding – faded.

Ginny came towards them, frowning. “What are you all doing?”

And then Pansy finally dodged around Goyle, and sucker punched Ron in the face. They went over onto the ground in a flurry of limbs. Ginny shrieked, and Malfoy tried to haul Pansy off Ron, while Harry and Hermione went for Ron.

Crabbe and Goyle eventually had to intervene when they all got stuck.

As they walked back to the Common Room, Hermione looked from Ron to Harry and shook her head in wonder. It had to be a Slytherin-Gryffindor thing, she thought, trying to dispel the hurt she was feeling. Ron hadn’t looked at her once.

The next day he stiffly told her that it was over. He refused to look her in the eye, the tips of his ears turned red with embarrassment, and then he escaped to breakfast.

'I don’t want someone who acts like my Mum, Hermione.' His words echoed in her head over and over again.

Hermione had known it was coming, she wasn't blind, they were never going to work together as a couple, but it still hurt like hell. She was rather numb and didn’t feel like eating. Harry offered to go with her, but she told him that she would like to be alone for a while and went to sit on the steps to the main entrance.

Sounds from the Great Hall filtered around her, the sun was bright and the green fields of Hogwarts spread out like an emerald carpet to the Lake and the Forbidden Forest.  
Hermione might had cried a little bit, but there was no one around to notice.

Professor Snape cleared his throat from behind her and Hermione jumped. She hastily tried to wipe her cheeks, and then turned to look up at him a bit. She raised an eyebrow. She just wasn’t in the mood to jump up and say, ‘Sir’ to him.

Snape looked extremely uncomfortable, and was scowling terribly as a result. He gave her a look of extreme disgust.

“Miss Granger, this unseemly display is uncalled for. You’re Head Girl. Sentimental rubbish does not become you.”

She dully wondered why he felt the urge to mock her all the way outside. He could have waited until Potions to achieve the same effect.

“Your words of wisdom are an inspiration, Professor Snape.”

He looked slightly stunned at the sarcasm she’d directed at him.

“I will ignore that, Granger,” he offered, through gritted teeth after a moment, “and kindly put it down to temporary insanity.” He sounded like the words were physically choking him.

“You’re magnanimity is as inspirational as your wisdom, Professor Snape,” she murmured, looking away. 

She could feel him boiling like a tea kettle behind her.

Yup, it’s got to be a Gryffindor-Slytherin thing, she thought absently.

There was a rather long silence behind her, but she knew that he hadn’t gone away. She could feel him on the back of her skin, like electricity.

“That article you submitted in 'Transfiguration Today' –”

Hermione jumped. She had submitted that anonymously. She’d never thought he would suspect she wrote it. Not even McGonagall knew. 

“Oh course I knew it was you, you silly little girl,” snapped the man who could apparently read thoughts through the back of her head. “I’ve had to wade through your verbose, ridiculous essays for the past 7 years! Merlin help us all, I could recognize your rhetoric anywhere.”

Hermione said nothing. She had to bite her own tongue to stop herself from asking what he’d thought about it. She still didn’t turn back around to face him.

“It was good,” Snape said, grudgingly. And then he whirled around and stalk back inside. Hermione twisted and watched his black robes billowing around him.  
Inexplicably she felt her spirits rise.

And that had been the start of Hermione's final year at Hogwarts.

&……&……&……&…….&……&

The day of the Slytherin-Gryffindor Quidditch match – three weeks after Hermione and Ron split up – dawned hot and humid, which was a bit annoying for October. Hermione and Ron were still not speaking to one another, Harry was gloomy, and Ginny was acting clingy to compensate.

Harry, Ron and Hermione attempted to walk down to the Great Hall in a group that morning. It was terribly awkward. Nobody spoke.

And Harry got into a fistfight with Malfoy before breakfast.

Luckily both McGonagall and Snape pretended situational blindness and deafness, stared over the heads of the two panting boys in an absentminded way that convinced Hermione they both had serious issues they needed to deal with – Quidditch, honestly! – and continued placidly onwards.

Although as they turned the corner Hermione saw that the placidity had melted away, McGonagall looked like she had swallowed a lemon, and Snape’s lip curled as he tried to suppress some sort of scathing commentary.

“Good morning, Professor Snape,” Hermione called after him, politely. The man was much sweeter than anyone suspected.

Snape shot her a vaguely horrified look and all but fled after McGonagall.

Hermione tried to suppress a grin. Her plans were much better than Malfoy’s, thank you very much.

For one thing, they actually worked.

That whole thing with the House Elfs and an unfortunate burning down of the kitchens due to a failed rebellion was in no way her fault.

Malfoy and Harry were still touching; hands on shoulders and arms, sides brushing, as they all but held each other up. It was far too hot to fight, and they both looked sweaty and exhausted. Hermione had very little sympathy for them.

She folded her arms. “You’re lucky you weren’t given detentions and precluded from the game.”

“Er, Harry,” Ron began, looking at the two of them with slight bemusement on his face. He made an illustrative gesture, a wordless sound of dismay.

Harry and Malfoy looked at each other in alarm. 

Then Malfoy shoved Harry away from him.

Harry stumbled and would have fallen, but Hermione grabbed him.

Malfoy gave Harry a rather peeved look. “And before I’ve had my coffee, too. Potter, you utter cretin,” he said, severely, and stomped off.

Pansy, who had been fanning herself off on the side, winked in a suggestive manner to Ron, who turned red and pretended not to notice. Hermione noticed though when the Slytherin girl’s looked changed from salacious to slightly speculative. Hermione vaguely wondered how Pansy felt about the Chudley Cannons.

Crabbe looked slightly apologetic. “He gets like that before coffee.” He shrugged and then he and Goyle lumbered after their leader.

Crabbe was coming along nicely, Hermione thought approvingly. All that extra tutoring she was giving him unbeknownst to Malfoy or anyone else, was really paying off.

Hermione looked from Harry’s annoyed, slightly wistful face, to Ron’s red one. She rolled her eyes, and made an attempt anyway.

“Malfoy’s got really nice hair, but that Pansy Parkinson is an utter cow.”

Now if they would just react the way they were supposed to –

Ron and Harry gave her identically horrified looks.

“He does not!” Ron cried, betrayed by such a sentence from Hermione. And a Gryffindor.

“I’ve always thought Pansy Parkinson was loyal. Although, much too grabby with Malfoy. Nobody could possibly be attracted to that pointy ferret.” Harry scowled.

Hermione threw up her hands. “I am surrounded by morons,” she muttered, and continued walking. At least Ron had said something back to her. Harry’s constantly anxious dancing between the two of them was starting to give her a migraine.

Harry nudged her shoulder companionably. “I have no idea what you’re talking about, Hermione,” he told her, cheerfully, as Ron made a dive for the bacon, “but you’re probably right.”

His eyes flicked upwards, locked with Malfoy’s, and then he too began to eat.

Professor Snape was nursing a cup of dark coffee and trying to tune out Professor Dumbledore.

Ginny was glaring daggers into Harry’s oblivious head half-way down the table, Lavender had obviously had a fight with Seamus, going by her lack of that atrocious red lipstick today, and Luna Lovegood was waving at Hermione enthusiastically from the Ravenclaw table.

“Aren’t they cute?” she mouthed, pointing first to Malfoy and then to Harry, who were still in the midst of glaring at one another. Malfoy had just stuck his spoon in his own eye, and Harry was dribbling milk onto his lap.

Malfoy was obviously distracted by Luna’s wild pointing and waving though. He gave them both a narrowed eyed look.

Then he chucked an orange at Harry.

There was a calm before the storm. Hermione thought, 'Oh, God.'

“Food fight!” screamed Dennis Creevey in a high-pitch voice that carried throughout the Hall, before attempting to dive bomb the Slytherin table with a custard pie.

Mass pandemonium ensued.

Malfoy, of course, got away scott free. Though, as Harry told everyone who would listen, 'He started it.' And Hermione was sure she’d seen Dumbledore throwing at banana with unerring accuracy at McGonagall’s hat, and then placing all the blame on Professor Snape, who looked like he was contemplating murdering the old man with a grapefruit.  
Hermione couldn’t help laughing, and when Snape looked over at her in some surprise, she just smiled at him.

The thunderstorm hit just as Harry saw the snitch for the first time. As booming rolls of thunder echoed between the mountains, Harry bent low over his broom and raced for a gold flash only he could see.

Harry was grace personified; speed and power and ferocity all in one. There was no way that he was going to miss it. The crowd screamed below him.

And then Malfoy was there, blocking Harry from reaching the snitch unless he wanted to have a head-on collision with the Slytherin Seeker. Just like he had in first year, and second year, and – well every year since.

Even from this distance, Hermione could see Malfoy’s triumphant grin. With his fair hair blowing about his face in those moments before the rain hit, and the gleam of triumph – both malicious and amused – in his eyes, he looked – well, Hermione could see why Harry would be fascinated.

Draco Malfoy burned with the same fire that flared so brightly in Harry.

As the crowd boo’d or cheered given their preferences, Hermione reflected that Draco Malfoy was the only one who had ever given Harry any sort of competition. He almost beat Harry time and time again. And no one, besides Malfoy, had ever been able to get the drop on Harry to effectively stop him from reaching the snitch.

No one except Cho Chang.

Hermione remembered the time when Harry would automatically seek out Cho Chang before he looked for Malfoy. The girl had had raw talent and utter fearlessness on the Quidditch pitch. She had instantly assessed, like a Ravenclaw should, that trying to outfly Harry’s top of the line broom was impractical. She had shadowed him in a tenacious way that reminded Hermione of Malfoy and Slytherin tactics, and waited for the opportune moment.

And when she had seen it, she’d dropped in front of him grinning with triumph; beautiful, exotic, and bloody talented. Harry had been obsessed.

Hermione remembered him staring at her from across the Great Hall, willing the pretty, older girl to look back at him. She had been vibrant back them; strong and laughing and fearless.

Before Cedric.

After that she had been sad – broken somehow – and Harry’s interest had faded.

Cedric Diggory had been an interesting case. At first, Hermione had not included him in her theory. But when she first started getting a vague suspicion that Harry’s obsession with Malfoy was – unusual, well then she had reassessed all the possibilities and Cedric’s name had come up. 

Of course, Hermione had suspected that Malfoy was gay since Fourth Year. Harry, however, was a bit more complicated. Hermione had a rather strange notion that Harry was not interested in any group of people, per say, but rather one person, and that he saw the reflection of that person in several other people during the course of his life.

Like in Cedric Diggory.

Diggory had been handsome, talented, and the acknowledged leader of Hufflepuff House. The Hufflepuffs would have followed him anywhere; done anything he said. He had that peculiar ability of leadership that would only work among Hufflepuffs; he refused to take any leadership position and thus, by default, had been unanimously elected to it.  
Ravenclaws followed the smartest or the wisest. Gryffindors followed the loudest and the strongest. Slytherins followed – well, Slytherins were a bit tricky. They seemed to follow Malfoy because of a combination of things; he was so pure-blooded that he seemed like the Wzarding version of nobility, he was filthy rich, extremely arrogant, quite clever, and an atrocious bully. But mostly, Hermione thought, they followed Malfoy because he just assumed that they would. And a bit because they wanted to see what would happened.

And for some reason, that worked.

Hermione had always had dark suspicions about Slytherins.

And if Harry thought that she didn’t know he had almost been sorted into that House, well, then he was a bigger fool than she supposed.

Also, the Hat had told her that she would have done very well in Slytherin.

She had her doubts about that as well. She very rarely used her knowledge for purposes of blackmail and general mayhem. Maybe that was where she was going wrong, and she should re-evaluate her life choices.

But, anyway, the Hufflepuffs had adored Cedric, much as the Slytherins adored Malfoy. He was their king.

Harry hadn’t noticed this until handsome Cedric, with his blonde hair and powerful magic, and bright future ahead of him, had flown against him Quidditch and, due to a greater immunity to Dementors, managed to beat him.

Harry had hated him then. He had hated him and admired him and been terribly jealous of him. They had both wanted Cho Chang, and Cedric had actually gotten her.

Hermione had almost expired from the irony.

The sad part was that she had had no one to tell. Not even Luna suspected all the Harry-Malfoy nuances back then. And Hermione hadn’t known her in any case.

And then Cedric had saved Harry’s life, and Harry had saved his in return. The Third Task of the Tri-Wizard Tournament had been a draw – something only Malfoy had ever accomplished before – and they had stood before the Cup as Champions; the acknowledged leaders of Hogwarts – shining and glorious.

And then they’d both been betrayed when that Cup of their future had taken them not to glory, but to the Dark Lord.

Harry had faced Voldemort and lived. Cedric had faced him and died.

Cho had been broken.

But Malfoy had still been there. He had faced the Voldemenort that summer himself, and he had lived. He’d returned to school, thought about killing Dumbledore, and then attempted to blackmail Professor Snape into getting him sanctuary from the Headmaster.

It was all a bit embarrassing when he found out that Snape was a spy for the Order.

Draco and rebounded – after a rather major fit of hysterics – and bullied and bribed the rest of the Slytherins to following him over to the anti-Voldemort side. 

He’d refused to call it either the Harry Potter side or the Dumbledore side. After all, as he’d constantly told everyone, I’m a Malfoy, I have standards.

And following kooky old bats and speccy-eyed gits was just not going to happen.

Draco and Narcissa had left Lucius and joined the Order of the Phoenix, and everything had somehow changed.

Except for Harry’s undying enmity of course.

Malfoy was flying before the stadium, messing up his hair and doing a rather good impression of Harry’s confused and angry expression as he’d lost the snitch. The Slytherins howled with laughter, and Ginny shot Malfoy a withering glance as she flew past with the Quaffle. 

Hermione remembered that Ginny had been quite fond of doing impressions during Harry’s 6th Year. That had been the year she’d attracted Harry’s attention as well.

Of course, that had also been the year that Ginny was promoted to Seeker during the Gryffindor match against Slytherin. The match that Harry had missed because he was in perpetual detention with Professor Snape for attempting to kill a student, and the match Malfoy had missed because he had been almost killed by Harry Potter in a bathroom.

Ginny wouldn’t have won against Malfoy, but without him she crushed the Slytherins. It hadn’t even been a contest. She had flown with true skill that day. She had been fierce and ruthless and victorious, her bright hair and even brighter eyes powerful and alive – and there before Harry when he returned to the Common Room.

She had been waiting for him.

It was no wonder, looking back, that Harry had kissed her.

Ginny had been much more clever than Hermione had ever given her credit for. She had observed with more clarity than even Hermione herself, and transformed herself into someone who grabbed Harry’s attention in a way that no one had since Malfoy himself; probably because she had, consciously or unconsciously, been modeling herself on Malfoy.

Hermione did not think Ginny had ever realized what that truly meant though, for maybe then she wouldn’t have bothered.

Harry wasn’t watching his girlfriend flying across the field with the Quaffle still in her possession. He was looking at Malfoy doing his impressions, and he looked angry enough to attempt to kill him again right there on the Pitch. 

Suddenly Malfoy leapt from stillness to bright, streaking movement, his silvery hair flying out behind him. The rain came down in a torrential downpour, girls started shrieking, and Hermione shaded her eyes to watch Harry take off in desperate pursuit.

Ron was bellowing from the Keeper’s posts.

Malfoy had been waiting for the snitch to come close enough that Harry would have no chance to beat him there.

Malfoy was ahead. Then they were neck and neck.

Harry all but stood on his broom, hand clasping around the snitch just before Malfoy could get there.

And just as a bludger – shot from Goyle several seconds ago – reached him. He had absolutely no chance to keep his balance.

Harry fell.

Hermione screamed.

And Draco Malfoy shot out an arm, quick as lightning, and wrapped his fingers around Harry’s wrist.

For a moment, it looked like they would both go over, and the stadium held a collective breath. But Malfoy kept his balance. Even from here – even through the rain – she could see his sneer.

Hermione squinted and saw his lips form the words, ‘Scared, Potter?’

&……&……&…….&…….&……&

By Christmastime Hermione was glumly contemplating the fact that maybe Malfoy and Harry were just too stupid to ever realize what was actually going on.

Hermione took a bite of her extra crunchy toast, absently passed Ginny the platter of bacon, and re-read the paragraph on transubstantion as it related to unlike forces with similar magical signatures in her 'Advanced Arithmancy' textbook. She was really excited about this next chapter, and Professor Vector had promised to assign her an independent research project regarding it next term if she wished.

Ginny was muttering under her breath and glaring at all the Christmas decorations around them.

Harry had wanted to stay at Hogwarts this year, and Ginny couldn’t understand why.

Malfoy was staying as well, and Harry kept saying that the Slytherin boy was 'up-to-something.'

Ron and Hermione had exchanged hunted looks over Harry's head, and ended up talking to each other again out of sheer self-preservation. It was 6th Year all over again.

Snape stalked passed their table, black robes billowing and dark, malevolent eyes scanning the Great Hall for the least sign of rule-breaking or frivolity. His lank, greasy hair looked slightly worse than usual, which Hermione took to mean that he had been at a Revel last night.

Tom Riddle surely didn’t care enough about the health of his minions to allow them adequate time for grooming. Hermione was sure that this was slowly driving Lucius Malfoy to drink.

Hermione turned another page and took a quick glance at the Head Table as Professor Snape took his usual place next to McGonagall. 

Professor Dumbledore was beaming genially out at the students before him, but Hermione noticed the faint lines at the corners of his eyes, and wondered if his withered hand was paining him again. Professor McGonagall was tartly informing Severus that he was too thin and heaping his plate with waffles. Hermione was sure that she saw the surly professor turn absolutely green. She dropped her eyes back to her book and reviewed the image in her mind, realizing that he had kept his hands under the table, and that they’d been balled into fists as he’d stalked through the Great Hall.

Which meant that most likely he was experiencing uncontrollable shaking as an after effect of the Cruciatus Curse. 

Hermione made a mental not to speed up her trials into a potion that soothed some of the symptoms of frequent abuse by Cruciatus.  
It was just that she didn’t have anyone to test them on.

And she sure as hell wasn’t going to try and test it on Professor Snape. Severus, she corrected herself reproachfully.

Ginny banged on the table to her left, and muttered a strangled oath. 

Hermione sighed internally, but asked, “Is anything the matter, Ginny?”

Draco Malfoy had just walked in, smiling in such a way that said he knew he was a sex god; an insufferable bastard of a sex god. 

Sometime during the last few months of 6th year – under circumstances that Hermione was still not quite clear about, and while he was up to nefarious deeds that only became clear in hindsight – Draco Malfoy had discovered Muggle fashion. Or rather, Muggle fashion had found him. 

And now, underneath his scandalously opened school robes, Malfoy walked around clothed in Armani, Louis Vuitton, Valentino, Dries Van Noten and more. His clothes were always terribly expensive, always eye catching, and always somehow indecent. It wasn’t that they were too tight, or scandalously low. In fact, Malfoy was always perfectly covered. Rather it was how they hung off of his lean, elegant form, accentuated his slender hands, brought out the silver in his eyes and the pale fall of his hair, and turned him into something imminently desirable.

And all crowned by that ever-present Malfoy smirk.

Hermione was 80% convinced that every girl in this school had had one of those dreams about Draco Malfoy at least once. And so had half of the boys. 

She was fairly sure that Ginny had as well.

“Did Malfoy do something to you, Ginny?” She asked now, half-watching out of the corner of her eye as Malfoy strode over to the Slytherin table, prodded Crabbe forcefully in the back, and then slid in between him and Pansy Parkinson. Theodore Nott bent over the table to say a few words to Malfoy which made him roll his eyes.

Hermione noticed that Malfoy’s fan-club – made up of several 1st and 2nd year Hufflepuff girls – were watching him avidly from across the Hall. 

And, for some unfathomable reason, taking notes. 

"Malfoy's a menance," Ginny said, fervently.

Hermione wondered if that meant Ginny was now a part of the Potter-Malfoy observation club; which included herself, Luna, the Greengrass sisters, and - if Hermione was not mistaken and she was rather hoping she was - Professor Sprout.

Harry slouched into the Great Hall then, dropped down heavily on Hermione’s side that was opposite to Ginny, and then rested his head wearily on the table. 

“Where’s Ron?” she asked, noticing Ginny go absolutely still and then attempt to ignore Harry’s presence. Oh god, it was going to be one of those days again.

“Still in bed,” Harry mumbled, refusing to lift his head up off the table.

Hermione would have loved to stay out of it. She really would have. But she just couldn’t help herself.

“Did you two stay up late last night?”

Ginny snorted violently, Harry’s fists clenched but he still refused to look up, and Hermione finally, reluctantly, put down her book. She had just been getting to a really fascinating part about Riemann zeta functions too.

She tapped her fingers gently on the table top. “Harry,” she said at last, conversationally. “Did you know that Malfoy has been staring at our table since you walked in?”

Harry’s head snapped up immediately. His face looked haggard, his messy hair was in complete disarray, and his shirt was on backwards, but the blazing brilliance of his green eyes was as fierce as ever. Green locked with grey, and they were engaged in a silent struggle for several moments, neither wanting to be the first to look away. Tension sparked between them, so intense that Hermione could practically hear the crackling. Hermione could feel Ginny all but vibrating with rage by her side, but Hermione was too fascinated to pay much attention to her at the moment.

At last Pansy, who had looked back and forth between the two boys and then rolled her eyes expressively at Hermione, nudged Malfoy to get his attention. The grey eyes blinked and then the tension was broken. Malfoy turned away and took a sip of coffee, and Harry took a deep, shaky breath.

“He’s definitely up to something,” Harry muttered, “saving me had to have been some sort of ploy,” and if Hermione rolled her eyes any harder they would be higher than her eyebrows. And probably stuck up there for good.

“Were you supposed to do something with Ginny last night, Harry?” she said, prompting him because she just couldn’t help herself, and watched with slight amusement as horror passed quickly over Harry’s face, and he finally tuned to face Ginny.

“Gin –,” he began, running a hand distractedly through his hair.

Hermione noticed with some surprised that Ginny’s eyes were red, as though she’d been weeping not long ago, but her expression was still fierce. She instantly held up a hand, halting Harry’s explanation. Hermione realized though, by Harry’s slightly confused face, that he had had nothing more to say after that one attempt to verbalize……..whatever he thought he was doing with his spare time.

“It’s alright, Harry,” Ginny said, with such a studied air of forced nonchalance that Hermione winced. “Something came up that was more important, right?”

And Harry nodded, relieved that she understood.

Hermione fought really hard with herself to suppress the temptation to smack him with her book. If Harry had been paying attention to Ginny – really paying attention to her – he would have realized that her words covered an entire pit of suppressed emotions, and that she was planning on smothering him with it.

“Something involving Malfoy, right Harry?” The words 'as usual' didn't have to be verbalized.

Hermione was right in the middle of this drama. She wished that she wasn’t. She figured that it would be rude to attempt to hide behind her book.  
Harry’s green eyes shot over to Hermione’s face, and then he was standing, moving around her until he was right behind Ginny, hands shoved in his pockets and eyes still looking so confused that Hermione now wanted to hug him and tell him it was alright.

She snuck a quick glance at the Head Table. Surely Professor Snape had noticed that something was going on at the Gryffindor table that was out of the ordinary.  
And, sure enough, those cold black eyes were fixed on them. His long, pale fingers were clenched tightly around a coffee cup masking their slight tremble. Except from Hermione. His malevolent gaze came to rest upon her for a moment, and Hermione tried to stare back, refusing to look away first.

After a moment he gave her a slight sneer and moved back to glower at Harry and Ginny. Hermione realized that she had forgotten to blink. She also realized that that might be his version of a smile.

“Really, Harry?! Really?!” Ginny was shouting. She jumped up and stood, facing her boyfriend, hands balled into fists and hair all but crackling and sparking with rage. There was something beautiful about the way that her eyes glared into his. At least, Hermione assumed that Harry thought so, because he was looking at her with slight admiration in his steady, green gaze.

But he wasn’t glaring back.

There wasn’t any smoldering, vibrant passion moving from Harry to Ginny. It had only, ever, gone the other way.

Ginny leaned closer and prodded Harry forcefully in the chest. “Then why don’t you marry him!” Ginny snapped, childishly. “Because I’m finished,” she ended, not childishly at all. “I’m done, Harry. We’re done.”

The Great Hall’s attention was entirely fixed upon Harry and Ginny’s argument. They had been the couple of Hogwarts for half of last year and, apparently, now half of this year. Girls had been terribly jealous of Ginny, and Blaise Zabini had been terribly jealous of Harry. 

Hermione, eyes drifting down the table towards Dean Thomas, noticed his wide-eyed look that contained slight hope as well as surprise. She wondered whether Dean hadn’t been jealous of Harry as well.

“I’m finished,” Ginny said again, quieter this time, but forceful and decisive. 

Harry still looked so confused. He opened his mouth like he wanted to say something, but couldn’t think of anything at all relevant.

At last Ginny narrowed her eyes at him and sighed. “I’ll see you around, Harry,” she said, still quiet, still so sure. And then she walked purposefully out of the Great Hall.

The silence was absolute. Harry stood, under the entire spotlight of Hogwarts, lost in thought, while everyone waited with bated breath to see what he would do next.

For several seconds no one made a sound.

Until Draco Malfoy decided to draw attention to himself by throwing a plate of pickles at Harry. 

No one moved. Well, no one except Harry when he saw Malfoy’s smirk.

And when Malfoy proceeded to make things worse by exclaiming, with unholy glee, “Couldn’t even keep the Weaslette satisfied, Potter?”

Hermione was the only one who bothered to wonder why there was a plate of pickles at the Slytherin table during breakfast. And it was at this moment that Ron walked into the Hall.

He looked at Hermione and raised an eyebrow. “What in the name of Merlin’s beard is going on in here?”

Harry was now vaulting over the Slytherin table and tackling Malfoy to the ground where they spent the next several seconds energetically pummeling one another. Ron ate a slice of bacon and observed with interest as Harry got Malfoy in a headlock and Malfoy employed a devious, underhanded Slytherin attack of his own in retaliation.

“FOUL!” he roared with enthusiasm, his voice booming over all the other noise in the Great Hall. 

“Be quiet, Mr. Weasley,” Professor McGonagall snapped, charging past their table. Professor Snape was right behind her. Together they hauled Malfoy and Harry apart and set about issuing detentions right and left. Ron grinned. “Harry got Malfoy good, right in the eye.”

Lavender drifted down the table and settled herself almost in Ron’s lap as Hermione recounted what had happened. Ron paused in his bacon eating to look slightly concerned and ask if Ginny was alright. They were a thing again after she and Ron and broken up. And Lavender and broken up with Seamus. Although they never seemed to do much talking.

Really, the convolutions of teenage courtships were beyond her.

No wonder Snape was always in such a bad temper.

Well, that and the whole Voldemort thing.

Hermione thought about this for a while. “I think so,” she told Ginny’s big brother. “She’s strong. Besides, I always told her that Harry had a thing for Quidditch players.”

“So?” Ron was now devouring a roast chicken. Why was there a roast chicken at breakfast?

“Perhaps I should have specified that he had a thing for Quidditch players who remind him of Draco Malfoy,” Hermione informed him helpfully, and took minor satisfaction in watching him choke slightly on that huge chicken leg he had stuffed in his mouth.

“I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear that, Hermione,” he told her.

“Draco Malfoy’s like sex on legs,” Lavender informed them, helpfully.

Ron shot the two girls an incredulous look. “You’re both bonkers.”

Neville had stopped eating to listen in.

Zacharias Smith was shouting something about a vast conspiracy involving cheese from the Hufflepuff table, and Susan Bones was trying to stuff a roll in his mouth.

Pansy Parkinson was looking at Ron like she wanted to gouge his eyeballs out from the Slytherin table, and Gregory Goyle thought he was being discreet with his own staring at Hermione.

And Hermione had had enough.

Malfoy and Harry were still hollering at each other.

“He’s gay,” Hermione snapped at Ron. “And those two fight all the time because they want to have hot, gay sex and neither of them realizes it.”

And with that she stomped out of the Great Hall, leaving Lavender with the job of giving Ron mouth-to-mouth resuscitation. 

&......&......&......&......&......&

“Harry,” Hermione said conversationally the next evening, as they sat in the library. Christmas Holidays were starting the day after tomorrow, and the only test they had left was Defense Against the Dark Arts. “You said the first person you met in the Wizarding world your own age was Malfoy, right?”

Ron was refusing to talk to her, and had claimed to be sick the entire day.

Harry, who obviously felt no need to study, looked up from 'Quidditch Through The Ages' and nodded. 

“And you talked about Quidditch, didn’t you.” It wasn’t a question.

Hermione awarded herself a mental point at the suddenly hunted look on Harry’s face.

“What are you implying, Hermione?” 

“Harry, don’t you think you’ve got a bit of thing for –”

“Quidditch?” Harry nodded enthusiastically. “I know it’s a problem.”

Hermione chewed violently on the ends of her own hair.

“Yes, Harry,” she said, witheringly, “you have a thing for Quidditch.”

Malfoy entered the library. 

“Also, Malfoy appears to have cut most of his hair off,” she observed, staring fixedly over his shoulder.

“What! Where?” Harry almost fell off the bench attempting to follow her eye line.

Malfoy swaggered by, Nott trailing in his wake and looking faintly embarrassed to be in Malfoy's presence. The boy was wearing leather pants, but his hair was as flawless as always.

Hermione aggressively wrote down another sentence for her essay. “Whoops, must have been a trick of the light.”

&......&.......&......&......&......&

The next day Professor Snape awarded her 10 points in Potions for the first time ever. And Malfoy asked him if he was ill.

Hermione managed to trip Pansy Parkinson as the other girl went by her cauldron, and Ron automatically caught her before she hit the ground.

“Alright, Parkinson?” he asked amiably.

Pansy’s eyes had gone wide, she’d elbowed him in the stomach, and she’d marched away.

Snape looked like he was about to dock her those 10 points he had given her, but he’d seen her smug grin, narrowed his eyes at her and then resolutely turned away.

Neville managed to blow up another cauldron, and Harry dragged Malfoy – who was his partner that day – right under a table.

Hermione looked under it after a while, and saw them snarking at each other, faces inches apart, with Harry lying on top of Malfoy, and their arms gripping each other had enough to leave bruises. They looked furious and intent upon one another, to the exclusion of all else. Snape had to drag them out by magic to get their attention.

Hermione, who had been practicing Occlumency by thinking strange and disturbing thoughts at Professor Dumbledore when he looked at her, shot a thought off a Professor Snape.

He looked like he was hating life a little bit more than usual, but when he assigned the groups for their independent Potions Project, Hermione, Malfoy and Harry were all paired together.

“I trust, Miss Granger, that you are satisfied now and will cease and desist with your attempts to fix my hair and whiten my teeth and put vitamins in my coffee?” he asked her testily after class. His long fingers drummed on the tabletop as he fixed her with a malevolent gaze.

Hermione refused to wince. She felt a little imp prompting her to say, 'who, moah?' But she restrained herself.

“But, sir, what about my new, experimental, potion that helps combat the after effects of the Cruciatus Curse? Would you be interested if I slipped that into your coffee?”

Snape stared at her for a moment, black eyes narrowed. “Does it work?” he asked at last.

“Haven’t had anyone to test it on.” Pause. “Sir.”

“Severus will do,” he said absently, rummaging in his desk, “when you’re working as my Teacher’s Aid.” He found what he was looking for – an official looking paper – and passed it over to her.

Hermione asked him politely to take it away to examine thoroughly, but she already knew she was going to sign it.

No matter how many times Ron called her crazy.

&……&……&…….&…….&……..&

And then it was March and Hermione was sitting at the breakfast table waiting for a breakthrough. By the end of that day, as all Hermione, Harry and Malfoy sat in the library attempting to work together in some sort of harmony, and utterly failing, Hermione had had enough. She sent them both off to search for a book she needed, and with stern instructions not to get distracted by Quidditch books.

Then she disillusioned herself and followed.

Hermione watched them bickering, eyes locked like there was no one else in the entire world but each other, and knocked a bookcase on top of them.

She muffled the noise so Madam Pince wouldn’t descend on them like a vulture and then bent down to look under the fallen shelves and books.

“Potter, you utter git! Stop trying to save me.” Malfoy sounded reluctantly amused, extremely annoyed, resigned, and almost fond all at the same time.

She spotted them. Harry was on top of Malfoy, shielding him from falling books and heavy wooden shelves. His hands were behind Malfoy’s head, with the other boy’s silver hair spread over them like water.

“It was an automatic reaction,” Harry mumbled.

They were so close to one another; barely a hair’s breath apart.

Malfoy rolled his eyes. “Yes, Potter, and that’s your problem. Why do you even care anyway? I would be perfectly happy to see you crushed by a possessed bookshelf. We. Are. Mortal. Enemies. Get off me!” He shoved at Harry’s chest but Harry didn’t move.

“Why did you grab me then?” He demanded. “When I fell during the Quidditch game?”

Malfoy desisted shoving after a moment. “Everyone was watching, Potter. That wouldn’t have been cunning at all. Why do you care?”

“I don’t know.”

Malfoy stared at Harry and then began to grin like a lunatic. “You just can’t live without me, Potter. My undying enmity completes you –”

Harry looked terribly confused and a bit like he was contemplating smothering Malfoy with a book.

“Shut up, Malfoy,” he snapped, furious and embarrassed, red-faced and utterly exasperated with the blond beneath him, and then he bent down and kissed Malfoy on the mouth.

It was a terrible kiss. It looked more like Harry had smashed his lips against Malfoy’s to get the other boy to stop talking, than anything romantic.

They both froze. Malfoy went very still. Harry was panting and looking even more stunned than Malfoy. His green eyes were panicked.

“S – sorry.”

He scrambled to his feet and, for the first time in his life, he ran from Draco Malfoy.

Draco didn’t move for several minutes – staring blankly up into the ceiling – and neither did Hermione.

At last he raised a shaking hand to his lips. “Oh, God,” he whispered.

&......&......&......&......&......&

The next day Harry refused to leave the dorm, and pretended that he’d come down with some sort of wasting disease.

When Seamus and Dean refused to believe this, he lock himself in the bathroom.

“Raging diarrhea!” he hollered out at them through the key hole. “Just go one without me. Leave me to my misery! I am strong enough! I will survive.”

Ron and Lavender had some sort of row when she found out that Pansy had been invited into their Common Room and had fallen asleep on the couch.

“Man slut!” Lavender screamed.

“We were just studying!” Ron bellowed back.

Neither of them noticed Pansy and Ginny getting into it behind them.

Well, they didn’t notice until they both disappeared from view after Ginny stole something from Pansy pile of papers and they ran up the stairs to the 7th Year boys dorm room.

Apparently Seamus thought they were the presage to an invasion by Slytherins and set off the emergency measures that nobody knew he had place in there.

Seamus was blasted out of the window by a trebuchet, Harry ran out of the bathroom in a shower of steam, saw Pansy and gave a high-pitched scream. And then saw Ginny and  
attempted to jump out of the window after Seamus, and then Neville’s latest Herbology experiment decided that now would be the perfect time to blow up the dorm.  
The Slytherins thought all their dreams had come true, and ran up from the Great Hall to watch.

As McGonagall hauled them all out by their ears, and Filch fished Seamus out of the Lake, Hermione saw Draco in the crowd.

She watched him carefully as she herded First Years to safety. Harry had taken one look at him over Hermione’s shoulder, and then dived for safety behind McGonagall. Hermione vaguely suspected that he’d gone into the burning ruins of his dorm to fish out the Invisibility Cloak.

But Draco didn’t say anything about Harry.

Nor did he seem to have told anyone else about what happened between him and Harry the night before. He politely offered Hermione his help, and when he saw Harry in Potions later that day he categorically ignored him.

Harry ignored him back.

And that was how it continued as spring passed. There were no more fights in the Great Hall, or the corridors, or the Quidditch Pitch. Harry and Draco did not exchange two words to each other.

All of Hogwarts was disquieted.

And Hermione was slowly grinding her teeth into dust.

&……&……&……&……&……&

Gryffindor won the last game against Ravenclaw that year; to the surprise of no one. But to the surprise of all the teachers, Draco Malfoy organized a massive Quidditch game where anyone who wanted to play was invited. 

Of course Draco was in charge of one team, but to the surprise of them all, he placed Ron in charge of the other.

“I’m giving you Pansy as you’re deputy, Weasley,” he told Ron magnanimously. “Try not to make an utter botch of things.”

Harry didn’t even play. He sat beside Hermione on the grass as she studied for Astronomy, and followed Draco with his eyes when he thought she wasn’t looking.

They both laughed when Ron’s directions to Pansy ended up with her careening into the shrubbery at the edge of the Forbidden Forest.

Ron flew after her.

“You alright, Parkinson,” he called.

“I don’t know, I’ve just been beaten by a Weasley and his utter lack of ability to come up with a decent plan. I think I may die of shame.”

Ron grinned. “She’s alright.”

“This is what happens when I let Gryffindors come up with our strategy!” Pansy shouted from the underbrush.

Crabbe flew down to drag her out on Draco’s orders.

Hermione caught his quicksilver grin, as his laughing eyes caught Harry’s next to her. There was a single instant where the smiles froze on their faces and Hermione could feel their gazes lock, tension and anger and longing and hatred and electricity all concentrated between them.

And then the moment passed. Draco wrenched his gaze away and flew off. Harry sullenly dropped his green eyes back to the grass and began systematically ripping it out.

Hermione patted him on the shoulder and went off to find Severus to continue their experiments into the Cruciatus.

&......&......&......&......&......&

The research was progressing slowly, but steadily. One morning in April they looked to be on the verge of a breakthrough. They’d been up all night and when the dawn sun peeked through the dungeon windows, Severus looked up in annoyance and glared at it as though it was a personal affront.

“Hark, what light through yonder window breaks,” he muttered bad-temperedly.

Hermione grinned. “It is the east and, like as not, a portent of doom."

Severus’ lips twitched and he ducked his head back quickly over his cauldron.

&......&......&.......&.......&......&

Eventually he even stooped to bickering with her and arguing about research. One Saturday, at the very beginning of May, she tried to explain to him her success with Mandrake roots.

“I found it in 'Waltmann’s Guide to Forest Plants', and so I thought if I could convert the scream from a positive wave to an inverted one –”

“I attempted an antipolar hold pattern –”

“Which undoubtedly exploded when it interacted with –”

“The unicorn tears,” Severus finished, grimly. “Albus laughed at me for a week.” He looked aggrieved. “Just like you’re doing now.”

Hermione tried to wipe he tears of mirth away at Severus with blown-off eyebrows.

“It was an elementary mistake, Severus.”

He scowled at her. “At least I didn’t turn into a cat.”

“I looked very good as a cat,” Hermione returned, complacently. “And I was twelve.”

“A thief and a rogue,” he murmured but he sounded almost fond, and when Hermione looked up, his black eyes were filled with warmth.

He left the next morning. Voldemort had called all his Death Eaters too him. Something big was apparently about to happen.

Hermione followed him out as he left. His black robes whipped around him in the cool breeze, and his black eyes looked angry and spiteful.  
She reached out impulsively and caught his hand. “Severus,” she began, “I –”

But he put a finger to her lips and shook his head.

“Miss Granger –” He stopped, and shook his head. “Do not waste your time on me. I am old and bitter, and too set in my ways.” And then, in a whisper, “I loved another. I love her still.”

“Yes,” Hermione agreed quietly. “But she was never yours. And I could be.”

He kissed her then, one quick, gently peck on the lips, breathed in the scent of her hair, and pushed her gently away from him.

“Make sure Potter doesn’t do anything egregiously stupid in my absence,” he admonished her. And then he smirked. “We all know you should have been the Chosen One, Hermione, but we make do with what we have.”

And then he was gone.

Professor Dumbledore called an emergency meeting of the Order that night. He looked like death warmed over.

And Hermione knew what had happened even before he spoke.

Dumbledore said something about the Elder Wand and Horcruxes and Snape pretending to steal the wand from Dumbledore and give it to Voldemeort, thinking it would obey him.  
When the truth was that it would only obey Draco, who had disarmed Dumbledore last year. During his failed attempted to kill him.

She watched Draco turn pale and start shouting. She saw McGonagall crying and trying to hide it. Tonks was yelling something about Machiavelli. She didn’t know what she was feeling until she felt Harry’s arms around her, and she looked up to find everyone else had gone and they were alone in the meeting chamber.  
Hermione looked up into worried green eyes. He really was a beautiful boy. She let him lead her from the room. “It’s going to be alright, Hermione. We’re going to get Voldemort. He won’t get away with this.”

A derisive snort answered him, and they looked up to find Draco pacing the corridor. Back and forth, back and forth, like a wolf in a cage far too small.

She felt Harry’s hackles rise. “Do you have something to add, Malfoy?” he snapped.

Hermione could see the grief shining behind Draco’s cold gaze. “It’ll –” Her voice wavered and she cursed her own weakness. It felt like she was being stabbed in the chest with an icy blade. “It’ll be alright,” she tried to comfort him.

Draco got the malicious, spiteful look he always wore when he was hurt and about to lash out in the worst way possible. He laughed hollowly.

“You, comfort me? How dare you pretend grief for him, you filthy little mudblood!”

Hermione’s lips tightened, but she knew why he said it. Harry hauled off and slugged him.

“You take that back, Malfoy!”

“Or what?” Draco sneered. “You think he wanted some little mudblood crying for him? He would have been disgusted.”

Harry made another movement towards him, but Draco ducked, grabbed him roughly and threw him back against the wall. His wand, like a sudden miracle, was in his hand and pressed hard into Harry’s neck.

“Just give me a reason, Potter. One reason.”

Harry sneered back at him with an expression so like Draco’s it could have been a mirror.

“Like you would, Malfoy. You’re a coward; always have been, always will be.”

“You have no idea what I’m capable of,” Draco spat, trembling with rage. “I almost killed Dumbledore. I’ve killed Professor Snape.”

Harry leaned forwards, eyes like green fire. “There’s nothing you could do, Draco,” he promised, “that would surprise me.”

Draco looked undecided for the space of a breath, and Hermione wondered if she should intervene before this got out of hand.

But then he gave a frustrated growl, dropped his wand, and kissed Harry. Hard.

After a brief moment of shock – Draco had managed to surprise him after all – Harry was pulling Draco closer, hands moving up to thread through pale hair like silk.

Draco grabbed Harry’s glasses and tossed them aside as he pressed closer. Both boys groaned.

“Christ, Malfoy,” Harry swore, hands digging into Draco’s hips.

Draco licked his pulse point, hands slipping under Harry’s shirt and Hermione, face bright red, sprinted around the corner and out of sight.

For christsake, she wasn’t a voyeur. 

She wondered what Severus would think about this turn of events, and spent the next half hour sitting by the window in the Common Room, staring blanking out at the darkening landscape.

Ron came and held her hand for a bit.

Winky brought her a cup of tea.

When Harry returned, red-faced and apologetic, and explaining earnestly that nothing had happened, Hermione politely did not mention that he looked like he had been mauled by a bear.

“How’s Draco?” she asked, instead.

Harry reach over and too her in his arms again. He blushed again as well. “He’s better.” He stroked her back gently, and then her hair.

“How are you?” he asked, softly. “I know you and Snape were – close.”

Ron was hovering, looking worried.

Hermione turned and buried her face into Harry’s shirt, noticing that he smelled a bit like Draco now as well as himself, and felt vaguely comforted by this. It was always nice to be right, after all.

“Ask me tomorrow,” she said, trying not to think of anything but that Harry, and Ron, were both happy.

It feels like I’m falling, she thought, and when I hit the bottom I shall break into a million pieces, and I will never find all of them again.

&……&…….&…….&……&…….&

Dumbledore sat next to her on the lawn. His robes were bright magenta, but his eyes were shadowed and his face was more careworn than she had ever seen it. His withered hand was covered by his sleeves.

“Are you alright, my dear?” he asked, softly, after a few moments.

A warm breeze whispered through Hermione’s hair. Across the lawn, under a tree by the edge of the Lake, Draco and Harry were sitting together; Harry’s head resting on Draco’s shoulder.

Draco ran a finger through Harry’s unruly locks, and then he poked Harry in the side of the head. Harry opened his green eyes in outrage, and then they were kissing, Harry’s hand  
going up to clasp the back of Draco’s neck.

“I know –” she began. Her voice choked and she began again. “I know I had no claim on him. I know it was brief, and he was my teacher, and he was…..in love with Lily Potter.”

She rested her head on her drawn-up knees. “Wasn’t everyone,” she muttered, knowing she sounded a bit bitter.

“But he still – logically it didn’t even……..”

She trailed off.

“I was in the library one night, last year. It was right after Harry had – hurt Draco. Severus was furious. Rightly so. Harry was in detention for the rest of the year, and so he was in the library too, working late to catch up with his homework. I had gone off to fetch a book. There was no one else around. When I came back Severus was at our table. Harry was exhausted and wracked by guilt and….he hadn’t even gone to see Draco or offered any sort of apology. Because he didn’t even know how to go about that,” she added quickly, lest Dumbledore think that Harry was some kind of monster.

“And Severus had been even worse to him than usual. But there he was, staring down at Harry and not yelling at him. And he looked almost concerned. And then he reached a hand out and gently rested it on Harry’s hair. And he said…..”

“He said, ‘If you start going down the path I did, Potter, I will kick your scrawny arse like a football.’

“Then he had paused and I almost didn’t hear him add, ‘Your mother would want you to stay……good.’

“And I thought that anyone who could love like that – who could spend their lives in darkness and still remember the light – who was that brilliant and bitter and strong and – and complicated…..well, that was someone that I really wanted to get to know. Truly know.”

Dumbledore smiled sadly. “And did you get to know him?”

Hermione bit her lip and hastily swiped away tears. “I got to see glimpses.”

“You see much more than almost anyone, Hermione,” the Headmaster told her gently. “You have been nudging pieces into place around this castle since you first walked through its doors at eleven years old.” His beard quivered with something that looked almost like mirth. “I’m sure I have you to thank for the fact that when I went to the kitchens just now the House Elfs sat me down and made me listen to them sing the Alphabet song.”

Hermione flushed. “I’m teaching them to read and write,” she muttered, defensively.

“And beyond time it is, too,” Dumbledore agreed. He hauled himself unsteadily to his feet. 

“You have so much left to do, Miss Granger. So many knew theories to invent. Just look at all you have accomplished already. I do not believe this dark time will endure.”

And then he was gone.

Hermione rested her chin on her knees again and watched Harry and Draco, still kissing by the shores of the Lake. It was peaceful here. She didn’t think it would last. Those two were bound to try and kill each other sooner or later. There was entirely too much passion between them.

“I need coffee, Potter!” Draco shouted, irate voice echoing across the lawn. "Bring me coffee!"

Harry just laughed.

Hermione had a theory that it would only last a week. Then they would split up in some horrendous fashion, probably involving death threats and maybe alcohol and rebounds.

Of course, they’d get back together soon enough as well.

Hermione always said that Harry had a thing about Draco Malfoy. An obsession. 

“Bunch of dunderheads,” she muttered. 

She had a feeling Severus would have agreed.

&……&……&…….&…….&…….&

Let me know what you think!


End file.
